


Looks

by AmISam



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Gen, Some Graphic Language, cause baby that's what this is!, did someone order shitty introspection, mentions of a lot of evil deeds but nothing graphic, the courier is evil and sucks, the legion is evil and sucks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-27
Updated: 2019-07-27
Packaged: 2020-06-02 22:09:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19450483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AmISam/pseuds/AmISam
Summary: A bad woman reflects on the bad things she's done, but doesn't particularly make any important revelations into how her life of evil has rotted her soul past redemption. Really just a bit of a character study into what a Legion-aligned female Courier might be like.





	Looks

**Author's Note:**

> The Legion's a pretty shitty bunch, but I find the idea of a female Courier working with them to be somewhat interesting, and I really wanted to do something with a Courier who is just plain ol' evil, so thus this was born. 
> 
> Based on my Courier Anya, who took a detour to evil town after getting shot in the head.

She had never been blind to the looks she received when inside the encampment. From the very first time she'd stepped through the gates, she had felt eyes upon her from all angles. It hadn't necessarily bothered her then, mostly because she hadn't realized just what the staring was for, but she hadn't liked being surrounded by soldiers and slaves who gawked at her; the outsider who wore neither the Legion's armor nor a collar. And as the months had passed, even as she became a more common face around the camp, the looks continued, but at least now she knew why. She had realized she was an oddity to them all; the woman who could come and go as she pleased, who could meet freely with Caesar, who wasn't just a thing for bearing children or looking after the sick (however ironic the latter seemed given her current situation). It went against the Legion's norm, and she was well aware of how out of place her privileges must have seemed to the others.

"When will he wake?" Came a voice from behind her, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned to look at Lucius, who stood at the tent's entrance, before glancing across at the subject of his question. Lying still on the bed at the back of the tent, bandages wrapped around his head, was Caesar. The sheets and pillows around him were spotted with scarlet, matching the crimson streaks along the front of her shirt where she had wiped her hands. His chest rose and fell slowly, the only evidence of his continued survival.

"Don't know. Could be hours, could be days, could be never." She replied, coolly meeting the Praetorian's gaze once more. His eyes narrowed: still distrustful of her, even now. She let out a dry huff of laughter, "You think I'd kill him, even after all I've done for the Legion? I'm hurt."

Lucius' expression did not change. "Until Caesar awakens, we will be watching you. If he does not..." His voice trailed off, but she knew what he was suggesting. He, or one of the other Praetorians, would execute her in whatever fashion such a crime as Caesar's murder would demand. Perhaps they would hang her up on a cross like they did with the other profligates. Or maybe they'd just hack her to bits where she stood and feed her corpse to the hounds. Either way, she doubted she'd be leaving the camp alive if Caesar died. And while the AutoDoc had done most of the work, it seemed like the Praetorians would prefer to hold her accountable rather than the robot. Hard to string one of those up, she figured.

"I'm not planning on running off any time soon if that's what you're worried about." She told Lucius, "I am capable of some measure of loyalty, you know."

He only scoffed at her, glancing once at the prone form of his leader before turning away and exiting the tent. As he pushed the flap open, she caught a glimpse of the other Praetorians gathered outside, all trying to peer in as he left. She smirked as she watched some of them recoil upon seeing her. Was it because of the smears of blood across her shirt? Or because most of them had never seen her without the gear she wore obscure her features? Her hat and glasses would have only gotten in her way, so they sat discarded on the table next to her pack and her vest, which had also been shed to allow her better mobility. She'd even tugged her handkerchief down from around her mouth, leaving her face totally uncovered, and she wondered if maybe their shock came from seeing that she was, in truth, just as human as the rest of them. Lucius had seen her take the gear off earlier, before she'd kicked him out so she could concentrate on making sure the AutoDoc was functioning correctly, and she remembered the way he'd done a double-take upon seeing her face for the first time. She had felt his eyes immediately drawn to the warped scar that distorted the left side of her temple. It was so often hidden under her hat that she sometimes forgot about it herself, but it was clearly visible now as her hair was still not long enough to cover it. He'd done a good job of disguising his surprise, at least, reverting quickly back to his usual scornful demeanor.

Sitting back in her chair, she reached a hand up to feel the scar. It had healed about as much as it ever would, which wasn't saying much, but at least it didn't hurt anymore. The bigger shame was that the part of her eyebrow it cut through would never grow back. But she took some comfort in knowing the man who had given it to her now had a matching mark on his own head, though she doubted he’d be pulling the same rising from the dead trick as she had, most likely due to the vast array of other bullet holes she’d pumped into him back at the Tops. The memory made her smile a little; it had been so easy to lure Benny into his suite — pitifully easy, even. She hadn’t even needed to take off her hat. He’d been smiling to himself right up until she’d drawn a silenced pistol from the pocket of her coat, pulled the trigger, and shot that insufferable son of a bitch in the back.

She yawned, letting her hand fall back into her lap, and exhaled heavily. She was exhausted — supervising brain surgery hadn’t exactly been on her agenda for the day — but she didn't dare fall asleep in case Caesar's condition deteriorated. If he woke up, she'd be confident enough in his health to leave, but until then his fate was still uncertain. She trusted the AutoDoc's programming, but she wasn't sure if it had been enough to save him. The damage could very well have already been done beyond what was repairable. For her sake, she hoped this wasn't the case. She held no particular fondness for the man — if anything she held him and the rest of his Legion with the same level of contempt they held for her — but their partnership was beneficial enough to put that aside. She didn't need the Legion to be a wicked murderer, but damn if having their resources wasn't nice. Doing Caesar's dirty work was an easy price to pay for free-range over the region. And it wasn't like his dirty work wasn't enjoyable in its own right.

In the months since her first meeting with Caesar, she had shot the defenseless, half-dead body of Mr. House, helped (and even joined) the White Glove Society in returning to cannibalizing people, decimated the Boomers and destroyed their work, and utterly slaughtered everyone in the Brotherhood’s bunker before just blowing the place up for good measure. In between these acts, she freely killed anyone who dared get in her way — be they NCR soldiers, raiders, or unfortunate souls who just didn’t realize who they were bothering. She murdered, threatened, and stole as she pleased, and there was more than a bit of blood on her hands.

She knew she hadn't always been like this. There had been a time, before she'd taken a bullet to the head, where a kinder woman had occupied this body. One who would have been appalled to see what had become of her since her run-in with Benny. But that woman was gone now, replaced with the one who had awoken in Goodsprings in her stead, thirsty for blood. And by God, was it blood she found. The Legion's display of brutality in Nipton had piqued her interest, so when they had sought her out on the Strip she'd decided to seek them out to see what they could offer her. It'd turned out to be working in her favor thus far. It was a stark change from courier work, but aiding the Legion certainly gave more reliable pay.

Granted, she cared not for their mission nor their motives; they were ultimately irrelevant for someone who only cared about chaos and being given the means to create it. If the outcome was a Mojave controlled by the Legion, so be it, she didn’t plan on sticking around to see if that worked out. Caesar claimed his Legion was the best option for taming the wasteland, which, if she thought about it, maybe sounded reasonable. But she was no strategist; the intricacies of weighing the Legion's brutality against the NCR's diplomacy were beyond her. Her part was just to shoot whoever Ceasar told her to, and the simplicity of his directives was something she could appreciate, even if she did think the man was an asshole most of the time.

She and Caesar were on strained terms at best — she did what he commanded, no questions asked, but that didn’t stop her from acting of her own accord at times as well. She refused to submit to him like the rest of the Legion did, and she knew that irked him. As for the others, most were no better than dogs trained to do what their masters told them. They glared and whispered obscene things about what they’d like to do to her, but they were harmless — none would dare touch her for fear of impeding the work she did. The higher-ranking figures she more commonly interacted with were a little kinder in their treatment, if kinder could be described as being less inclined to talk about wanting to kill or fuck her. Lucius and the other Praetorians were eternally distrustful of her, and the Centurions hated being around someone they deemed below them. She got along best with Vulpes Inculta, but only because of the shared sadistic interests. It sure as hell wasn't friendship, rather instead more of a common understanding that if anyone in a room was to stab them in the back, it was most likely to be the other.

Thankfully, she doubted she would be dealing with them for much longer; there wasn’t much left to do to prepare to take the dam. She’d heard word that Kimball was coming to the Mojave and she sensed that Caesar would want something done about him, but that seemed to be the final step. Once Lanius, the ruthless Legate she’d been hearing so much about, arrived, it would be time to make their move. She was looking forward to the battle, even if the Legionaries loved to talk about how women didn’t belong in combat. If anything, it only made her more eager, just to accidentally hit a couple of the more obnoxious ones.

But after the battle was done and the Mojave was under Legion control, she didn't plan on hanging around to watch the aftermath. People like her were better suited to wreaking havoc on their enemies rather than enforcing martial law, so the fun ended for her once they'd won. Perhaps she would ask Caesar to send her to the surrounding lands to spread word of the inevitable approach of the Legion. Fear-mongering was something she could handle. Besides, she rather missed traveling wherever she pleased, it would be good to get back out onto the road.

But thoughts like that could be saved for later; the battle needed to be won first. And while Caesar acted like victory was guaranteed, she knew it never was. The NCR was full of sneaky bastards and there was no telling what sorts of tricks they were planning. The Legion had lost on the dam once, they could easily do it again if they weren't careful.

Eventually, her train of thought drifted away, and against her better efforts her head drooped and her eyes slid shut, fatigue winning the struggle to remain awake. She didn’t know how much time passed before she roused, but when she did it was to find a pair of dull hazel eyes staring out at her from under a bandage. She sat up quickly and checked her Pip-Boy for the time. It’d only been a couple of hours since she’d dozed off, and she was amazed to see Caesar regain consciousness so quickly (if at all, really). His gaze struggled to focus, but it was aware, and he followed her movements as she stood and came to sit on the side of the bed.

“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised to see you awake so soon.” She said as she looked him over, making sure his bandages were still secure, “But don’t expect to be getting up right away, you still have a good deal of recovering to do.” His brow furrowed a bit at that, obviously not too keen on being bedridden, and he made an attempt to sit up anyway. “Not so fast.” She said, placing a hand on the center of his chest to keep him from rising. His mouth opened, no doubt to offer some threat, and something dark flashed in his eyes, but her hand didn’t budge. She frowned and pushed him down more firmly, leaning in close so that she could address him in a low, warning voice. “Post brain surgery is a poor time to be stubborn, you pompous bastard.” Then she straightened up, and suddenly the sharp tone was replaced with something more casual, as if she was discussing the weather, “Besides, I already know what you’re going to ask me to do.” She withdrew her hand and stood, crossing the room to where her gear was and reaching for her vest as she continued, “Word is Kimball is going to be visiting the dam. I can’t imagine a better way of welcoming him to the Mojave than blowing his brains out.”

She looked back to Caesar, glad to see he was remaining still like she’d told him to. She might pay for talking down to him, but that would come later. There was work to do. His eyes, while watching her closely, were still foggy with pain and the haze of sleep, and when he spoke his voice was slurred and slow, with only the faintest hint of his usual authority. “Good. Do not let him get away.”

As she shrugged her heavy vest back on, she shot him a sinister grin. “You know I never fail to deliver, Caesar.”

A ghost of a smile passed across his face before fatigue pulled him back into a half-conscious daze. She quickly donned the rest of her gear, tugging her handkerchief back into place and grabbing her hat and glasses, before making to leave.

Lucius was waiting for her outside, and she noticed many of the other Praetorians were anxiously standing around. _Like a bunch of overeager puppies,_ she thought to herself, seating her hat atop her head. She noticed Inculta had rejoined the command tent's residents as well, back from whatever awful thing he'd been off doing. He offered only a cordial nod in her direction, which she returned before Caesar's most loyal dog approached her. “I heard voices.” Lucius said, “Does Caesar wake?”

“He does, but he needs rest. Keep an eye on him, make sure he stays in bed, and get him to drink some water if you can.” She told him as she passed.

“And where are you going?” He demanded, noticing her heading for the exit.

She turned and pulled her handkerchief down so she could shoot him the same wicked smile she had shot his leader only moments earlier. “To pay the President a visit.”

Once she was outside Caesar's tent, she paused on the hill overlooking the encampment so she could slip her sunglasses on and right her handkerchief. It was late in the day now, the sun just beginning to sink below the horizon, and the land was bathed in a sinister orange and red light. She could see the small forms of the Legion's members going about their duties below her, preparing for the battle to come. The dry wind brought with it the scent of smoke and the sounds of soldiers training, commanders shouting, and metal clanging. She set off down the slope, feeling heads turn to look, watching from behind the protection of her sunglasses as eyes followed her. While she would never belong with the Legion, the ever-present stares made it feel familiar, and she smiled a little at the thought. She supposed that was good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!


End file.
